


Crowbar

by MiloOfTheKey



Series: A Sense of Leverage [1]
Category: Leverage, Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Character Death, Eliot is a Cluster-Dad, Eliot is a Sensate, Sensate Cluster(s), Snippets, blockers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:47:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21516958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiloOfTheKey/pseuds/MiloOfTheKey
Summary: Eliot was sick and tired of Blockers.
Series: A Sense of Leverage [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604593
Comments: 9
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

Eliot was sick and tired of Blockers.

Whoever invented them, frankly, deserved a firm handshake and a solid punch to the jaw - not necessarily in that order.

The worst part about Blockers, however, (other than the feeling of jarring disconnect and the constant paranoia on or off of them) was the need to take them consistently. Like clockwork. The schedule must be precise or using them over any extended period of time would make his psychillium shrivel up and then he’d be worse than dead.

Or at least that’s what his (Cluster-)Mother had told him. Never did know when that woman was joking.

But for the first time since his cluster had died for him, Eliot was back on a team. Back to being _part_ of something - even if it wasn’t the same. Could never be the same. And they didn’t spend all the time together, no - but they spent enough that even Hardison was beginning to notice.

Ominous black pills weren’t exactly subtle.

But he took them anyway, because being exposed was worse than being stared at whenever he opened the bottle. Connecting with another sensate more dangerous than the edge of worry he saw flicker across Nate’s face whenever he left suddenly one day and the next came back with a new stock. Being weak worse than the face Sophie half-pulled when she realized that the bottle had no label.

He’d take them believing him crazy or a juicer over BPO hunting him down and torturing him any day.

But today he was almost out. Today, he was on a _job_ and he was almost out - because his last job went long and he didn’t think that Nate would pick another so soon and he’s never letting his stock drop this low _again_.

He didn’t want to put anyone in danger.

So he made the calculation. Made the choice. 

And in the middle of the con he dropped out of contact, ditching everything electronic inside a lead box to meet his dealer.

And Parker nearly got caught.

Nate didn’t say anything, but Eliot caught his eyes narrowing when the previously empty bottle was full.

He tried not to feel guilty.

\---

“Do you know what they are?” Sophie asks Nate after Eliot leaves, the Mastermind staring after where their Hitter had gone. “Nate, if they’re _dangerous_ \- if he’s an _addict_ -”

“He takes them like medications,” The former IYS employee counters, crossing his arms. “He takes them like he needs them for his health, not his pleasure.”

“Then what, he’s sick?” Hardison joined. “Or he’s got something going on in his head? He seems fine. Normal, even, for a criminal that’s good at beating heads in.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Parker suddenly jumped into the conversation, cramming cereal into her mouth with one hand.

“Eliot … left, today,” Sophie explains delicately. “We think he went to get more of those pills he’s always taking.”

“Oh, the Blockers?” Parker asks, nodding with understanding. “Well he needs them, so what’s the problem?”

“Blockers?” Hardison repeats. “What do you mean, Blockers?”

“That’s what they’re called: Blockers,” Parker repeats. “You didn’t know that?”

“How do you know this?” Nate asks seriously. “Did he tell you?”

“No, but my … I know someone who used to have to take Blockers,” Parker half-lies.

“Why are they called ‘Blockers’?” Sophie asks, eyes flickering to the door. “What do they block?”

“They block the Whispers, _duh_ ,” Parker laughed, and refused to say anything more on the subject.

No one felt reassured.

\---

When Parker was little, and her brother was littler, she knew he was different.

Before he died, that was.

Nick Talked different - talked to air, sometimes. Other times he talked in languages he never learned and like people he wasn’t. About places he’d never been and the people he’d never seen. Parker loved it - it was their secret, just the two of them - and the Others too. Nick was special, and he was special up until the day he died.

But one day Nick started taking pills that she didn’t know how he got. He stopped Talking, and he stopped Sharing; she hated it. But he had insisted, said it was safer. He told her that he had to - or the Whispers would get in.

Parker was older than him, but Nick was the smart one. Always was the smart one. Nick picked up on the things that Parker could never manage to … so she let him be.

So she taught him how to ride a bike, because before the Blockers he knew how but now he didn’t. She taught him so he would be happier, so he would smile again even though he had to fight the Whispers.

Then he died and it was all her fault.

When she first met the team, first saw Eliot take the Blockers, she was reminded of Nick the first time he took them. When the Others were gone and it was just him in his head. He hated being alone in his head, but he had to keep out the Whispers. That’s what he said.

Eliot looked like he hated being alone in his head, too.

So she poked his bruises. Stole his wallet and filled it with candy wrappers and coupons for tampons. She replaced his cooking knives with plastic ones and left the empty milk jug in the fridge. 

Anything to take the look of _alone_ off of his face.

Anything to make him less like Nick and more like _Eliot._

Sometimes, it even worked.

\---

The team didn’t learn about Eliot’s daughter until they had already split up twice and came together again in Boston.

“My God, Sophie, I don’t care!” Eliot suddenly burst, cradling his stomach where his broken ribs were jarred. “For fucks sake - I get enough babble about the theatre from my kid, I don’t need any more from you!”

(Nate blamed the concussion and the two pints of beer for Eliot’s lack of filter.) 

“Kid?” Sophie prompted him, slipping into the voice that she used whenever a mark had let something slip but hadn’t wised up to her tricks. “Right. What’s their name again?”

“Ada,” Eliot grumbled, digging his palms into his eyes. “She’s driving me _nuts_ , going on about how she’s nervous over her college apps and auditions and stuff. So I don’t need any more from you.”

“That’s fine, I’ll leave you be,” Sophie exits gracefully - slipping as quietly as she could over to where Hardison was eavesdropping and frantically typing away at his computer.

“No records whatsoever of an Ada Spencer,” Hardison barely whispered. “No birth records, no adoption records, no nothing. Did you know he was a dad?”

“No,” Sophie answered, watching as their Hitter began to drop off into sleep. “But try and find her. If something happens to Eliot …”

She trailed off. Didn’t have to say what she was thinking, Hardison nodded his understanding.  
“Gotcha.”

“I’ll go tell Nate.”

\---

Tara didn’t respect the unspoken rules around Eliot and the secrets that he could never tell. She stared, she glanced, and she so obviously looked at him - picking him apart - that Eliot could hardly stand it. He wanted to punch her face in - anything to get her to _stop_.

He missed Sophie now more than ever.

“So are you crazy?” She asks him after he took a blocker, the team gradually gathering for another of Hardison’s briefings.

“Excuse me?” Eliot actually has to take a second to process her words, they’re so unexpected. _“What_?”

“The pills,” She clarifies, and he can see the rest of his team warring between speaking up for him and staying back to see what she managed to dig up. For now, the second seems to be winning.

“That is none of your business,” He growls, but to no effect.

“Oh come on,” Tara scoffs, sprawling across the couch - _their_ couch - and tilting her head in a way that broadcasts just how beautiful she and how she _knows_ it. It pisses him off - Sophie was never like that, and Sophie was - _is_ \- far more beautiful than Tara ever could be. “You’re an angry, trigger happy hitman who takes pills religiously. You have to be crazy.”

“Hey!” Parker protests, with Hardison quickly following.

“They’re not because I’m crazy,” Eliot grits out, and it’s all rushing back. The excuses, the taunts, the _anger_ . Like it was before he was part of The Archipelago. The early days when he thought that there was something _wrong_ with him. “I’m not crazy.”

“Look if you’re going to go off the rails we deserve to know,” Tara snaps at him. “You could kill any of us easily. If you’re a threat we _deserve to know_.”

“I am in control of myself,” Eliot is saying, and he felt cornered. Like the world is against him. 

“And if you’re suddenly not?” Tara bares down on him. “Then what?”

“Tara,” Nate suddenly speaks up, and it’s taking everything Eliot has not to run for the door. “I think you should take this con off. Take a vacation.”

Tara scoffs, like she can’t imagine why Nate wouldn’t immediately take her side. “What, you’re suspending me? Because I’m _right_?”

“If you want to call it that,” Nate tilts his head, mild as milk. “I prefer to think of it as telling you to get out of this room - and probably also this state - until the chance of your imminent injury is less likely.”

“You wouldn’t let him hurt me,” Tara laughs sharply, with certainty.

“Who said anything about Eliot?”

Tara left soon after, the grifter in her pretending that she wasn’t running with her tail between her legs. Eliot still has to fight to control his breathing.

“She’s a bitch,” He finally has the ability to say.

“I hate her and I miss Sophie,” Parker concurs, curling on the couch where the stench of Tara’s perfume still lingers. “When will she come back?”  
“Hey, man,” Hardison bowls over Parker’s question. “We aren’t gonna ask. We never ask - you know that’s how we roll, you know? No need to get all ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ cuz we’re chill and good with secrets and stuff -”

“Hardison,” Eliot cuts off his babbling, dully comforted by the familiarity.

“Right,” The Hacker checks himself. “Just - she said a lot of shit. And whether or not it’s true - and I don’t really think it is, me, just saying - but whether or not it is we trust you. If it was something we needed to be prepared for you woulda told us a long time ago, and I believe that. I really do.”

He can feel Nate crossing the room, handing Parker his coffee cup and sitting on the coffee table in front of where Eliot was still coiled, ready for an attack that will never come. Eliot forces himself to look at the older man.

“Eliot,” Nate speaks, his voice low and gentle. Like how he talked to Sophie when she got quiet, or Parker when she got frustrated. He never talked to Eliot like that before - never _had_ to. “We are a team. We fight for each other, and we help each other. If you find that you need us, _we are here_.”

Eliot refused to acknowledge how much better that made him feel.


	2. Chapter 2

When Ada met Alec Hardison, it was an accident.

Honestly. Hadn’t intended to in the least.

Okay maybe it was, like, 63% an accident. 45%. 22%.

Whatever.

But Eliot (the worry wart) was annoyed with how Sterling had screwed his new cluster-team-whatever with the Davids. Worried, because his team was used to him being able to protect them and none of them could take a hit like he could.

Except for maybe Parker, but Parker was ... different.

So … Ada did some digging, with her dear Cluster-Dad none the wiser. It was Spring Break - she had time to kill. Sue her. Nate was getting sober (good), Sophie was diving into theatre (kinda-good), Parker was back to never being caught or seen (very good), and -

Well, Hardison was being held at gunpoint and persuaded to code for some very bad dudes.

Clare dropped in to Visit as Ada was hanging from the ventilation, and the French girl sat atop the unit as elegantly as she would at one of her father’s parties.

“That’s a virus,” Clare dumbs down for her, sounding distinctly regal despite the fact she was in a dressing gown and slippers. “If he completes that he’d be able to wipe out half the stock market.”

“Always a fucking virus,” Ada mutters, both to herself and the wake of Clare’s retreat to bed. 

She drops down.

Two men go down with blows to the neck, another comes at her with a gun - which she swiftly takes from him, pistol whipping him and his two friends gasping on the floor. 

When she turns, Hardison is held with a gun to his temple by the Big Bad.

“That is Mikael Gregorovi, a nasty international arms dealer,” Anton Visits just on time, flickering in as he steps over the unconscious bodies of the baddies. “If he’s after a virus then something happened to his stores.”

“Ahh, Mikael,” Ada rolls out her shoulders lazily, affecting a Russian lilt to her words. “I thought I would find you here.”

“Who are you?” The arms dealer growled at her, on the defensive at the incapacitation of his men.

“Did you think that just because someone poached your … _product_ ,” She chose the word with false care. “That I would allow you to poach mine?”

She briefly flashed to Clare’s room. “Give me a scapegoat,” She urges, before jumping back.

“You know who took my product,” Mikael’s grip loosens, and Ada locks eyes with Hardison - tries to convey some type of assurance in the split second they have before the gun is pointed at her. “Who has it?”

“First, let little Alec go, hm?” Ada twitches her lips in a quirk of cruel humor. “He’s no use to either of us dead, and he whines like a сука when he gets injured, so just push him aside.”

Mikael is debating when Clare drops back in, standing next to Anton.

“Give him Sean O’Kell,” Clare smirks. “Damien Moreau’s main source. Can’t hurt us to hurt him, no?”

“I give you the name, I walk out with him -” She nods her head at the hacker “- unschathed - no repercussions.”

“Yes, deal,” Mikeal spits, gun still locked on her. “Now the _name._ ”

“Sean O’Kell,” Ada wraps her hand around Hardison’s taught wrist. “He has … sticky fingers.”

She turns her back on him, trusting Anton - who hasn’t left - to watch her back. Which he does.

 _“Down!”_ He cries, and she doesn’t hesitate to grab her dad’s friend and drop to the ground, dragging him down with her. Then Amir is there, slipping into her skin as she grabs the gun she hates to use and lodges a bullet right between Mikael’s eyes.

Amir spits something nasty in Arabic before he goes back to his night watch, the itch of his uniform lingering on her skin.

“Let’s go,” Ada orders Hardison, pulling him up when he doesn’t comply. “We need to _go_.”

The docks they were on were monitored just enough that a gun going off would alert the police, especially in such a high-traffic dock. Hardison stumbles behind her, and to keep him from overbalancing she has to release his arm from her grasp. After a tense moment, he follows after her.

“Who are you?” He asks, panting, as they wait out the cops in a storage unit.

“Don’t worry about that,” Is all she says, dropping the false accent and slipping back into her comfortable American vowels.

She doesn’t speak for the rest of the night and she slips away when dawn breaks.

\---

When Clare meets Sophie Deaveraux - or, at the time, Lady Catharine - she truly does do it on accident. Eliot hasn’t even met Sophie yet.

She’s lingering on the edges of one of her father’s disgustingly rich parties, half-Visiting with Pierre as he skis - her toes digging into cold snow and velvety settee in the same breath. 

And Lady Catharine is stealing one of her father’s paintings.

The tall woman - to preteen Clare, at least - doesn’t even notice her. She’s quiet, breathing miniscule and movements still. She might’ve brought attention to herself, Clare decided, if the painting that the pretty woman was stealing was more interesting.

“That’s an _ugly_ picture,” Raul laughs, Visiting to sprawl across the stiff couch. “What’s it even of?”

“I think it’s supposed to be abstract,” Natsumi curls under his arm. “Or maybe it’s just not super good at all.”

“Then why would she be stealing it?” Raul shoots back.

Ada drops in to laugh, flitting away to grab Anton and Naka - leaving Pierre be, knowing it was fruitless to pull him from his powder. 

“Tell her that if she wants a pretty painting, she should go to your father’s study,” Naka suggests with a trickster’s grin. “I am sure that he would be most displeased if that pretty stolen picture went anywhere.”

“If you want a painting, don’t go for that one,” Clare speaks up finally, with all the determination of an eight year old. “Pére has a stolen one upstairs; how do you feel about Rembrant and oceans?”

The woman turns slowly, eyes wide and greedy and startled and considering, wondering why a little girl wasn’t screaming to get her in trouble, but instead suggesting such a tempting alternative.

“ _The Storm on The Sea of Galilee_ was stolen in 1990 from the Gardner Museum and was never recovered,” The woman practically _purrs_. “What would a little girl like you know about that?”

“I know that Pére does not let his … nicer colleagues upstairs,” Clare continues, ignoring the giggles beside her and how Raul has gotten popcorn. “His study on the end of the hall … it would be too bad if you got lost looking for me. After all, I wanted to show you my favorite doll and you can’t say no to the daughter of the host.”

The woman’s grin was mischievous and sly, nodding. 

“Well then, little _voleuse_ \- lead the way.”

\---

When the team half-stumbled into Nate’s apartment, they weren’t expecting to find a young woman drunk and half-sprawled across their couch. 

“Who -” The Mastermind began to ask, before cutting himself off as the figure stood to face them. 

“Wait, I know you!” Hardison exclaimed, and Eliot is _so_ never telling his kids anything again. “You saved my life at that port. You pretended to be Russian and then beat the shit out of them!”

“Yup,” The girl clips shortly. “You’re my dad’s friend. I couldn’t let you _die_.”

All eyes immediately turn to Eliot.

“Ada, what are you doing here?” Eliot sighed, worry shooting through his heart. “You go to school in Arizona.”

“And who thought _that_ was a good idea?” Ada laughed the too loud laugh of a drunk, taking another deep swig from the bottle in her hand. “I hate the heat. But Raul didn’t. He loved it when it burned and the paragua came out.”

“Here, I should take that,” He tries to step forward, to take the bottle of hard liquor from her. Tries to laugh off the severity of the situation. But she skirts out of his reach. “You’ll go blind at that rate.”

“You never asked how Raul died, you know,” Ada continues casually, facing the tvs - and immediately the team can smell blood. He clenches his jaw.

“He was caught,” Ada continues, pausing to take another deep draw from the bottle. “For Lola, he was caught. Always knew that he was gonna end up in between her and a bullet.”

“I took care of them,” Eliot finds his voice again, clearing his throat to try and push back old grief. “They’re dead - the ones who killed him are _dead_.”

“But you never asked _how_ he died,” Ada repeats, back still to him - voice rough and low. “He died slowly. First they stabbed him in the thigh - just to see how much he would scream. Then they cut off one finger - one _knuckle_ \- at a time, asking him questions they knew he didn’t have the answers to. And when he ran out of fingers -”

 _“Stop,”_ Eliot pleads, and he doesn’t try to put on a mask, for once. He -

He wasn’t there.

“No, you weren’t,” Ada repeats with another pull from the bottle, and Eliot realizes that he’s spoken out loud. “And you weren’t there this time either.”

He feels as if the floor dropped out under him - he stumbles forward, hands hitting the couch’s back as he tries to regain his footing. 

_“What?”_

“I met Raul last, did you know?” Ada switches tracks and turns, tears lining her face. “Not by purpose - God, Ra never did anything on purpose, but I was slaving over my fucking Spanish homework when he pops in, all swagger and pomp, and starts going on about how much better Portugese was.”

She laughs a chuckle of pain, and his team is shifting around him - worried, maybe even scared. 

“I learned so much Portugese from him I failed my next Spanish test -”

“ _Ada_ ,” Eliot cuts her off. “ _Who died_?”

“- a‘least my profe told me I got extra credit for mixing up two different languages when I talked to her -”

“ _Ada_ , were you followed? Is it safe?”

Because his kids were safe. After Raul died they were always safe, even if they were doing criminal shit they were _safe_. And if they were safe and remembered what he taught him then it would take a hell of a lot more than an average gang but -

_BPO._

“Ada, was is Whispers?” Eliot is vaulting over the couch, grabbing his daughter by the shoulders and cursing the drink in her hand. _“Ada_ , is BPO on your tail?”

“- Ra was just an _ass_ going on and on about -”

“ _ADA!_ ” He shouts, because she is drunk and his kids might be in trouble and his Blockers don’t wear off for another three hours.

She quiets. The team are stock still behind him.

“You hate to drink,” Eliot finally says, a long moment passing until his low voice cuts through it like a knife. “Your father drank.”

“Never understood it,” She slurs. “Until I had something to drink about.”

“Who?” He asks, searching her eyes. She looks away.

“Pierre, accident,” She finally chokes out. “And then …”

“What?” Eliot pleads. What could possibly be _worse_?

“Naka was only barely hanging on,” Ada finally finds the words. “She was stubborn, giving her food to the other kids - but when … I think the shock got her.”

“But if Naka -” Eliot cuts off his words, _horror_ punching at his guts.

“Naka died,” Ada repeated. “Then Natsumi gave up. Cancer won. She let it.”

The room is silent.

“How long?” Nate asks for him, because he doesn’t have the words.

“Pierre died two days ago,” Ada finds her voice. “12 hours later I started drinking.”

Eliot is crying.

The tears are slow, steady. At first they’re silent - but then it is too much and he’s sobbing - and Ada is too, and the bottle drops to the ground and he’s got his daughter attached to his front like a limpet and she never wants to let go and he never wants to let him go -

 _Three in one day_.

Three of his children died in one day. 

Four of his children were _dead_.

He cries for a long time, then.


End file.
